


Magic Fingers

by gagewhitney



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gagewhitney/pseuds/gagewhitney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm good with my hands."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by cemeterydreamer: "Carol says you give a pretty good neck massage." "Yeah, well... that's not the only thing I'm good at massaging." Pretty much asking for PWP here, no shame.
> 
> Changed the words up a little, but it's definitely PWP. My shame went out the window a while ago. ;)

The third time Andrea sighs, twists her neck from side to side and pushes against her jaw with her hand, Daryl finds himself asking, "You all right?"

"Yeah," she grimaces. She looks back to where he's leaning against the wall of the guard tower. "Just a little stiff is all. I'm not used to sleeping in a prison cell, I guess."

He snorts. "Not exactly the Ritz."

She laughs lightly, still trying to work out the kink. "It's not even a Motel 6." 

"Wouldn't have quarters for the Magic Fingers anyway."

She laughs again. "Hey, speaking of which, Carol says you give a pretty good neck massage." She turns to face him, leaning against the railing, and tries to fight a grin. "Want to help me out here?"

He turns a light shade of red. "Shit. She told you that?"

"Mm-hmm." She toes at him gently. "You come very highly recommended."

Andrea's teasing him and he knows it, and a familiar, itchy, anxious feeling starts to rise in his stomach. His fingers tighten on the crossbow, but he's been trying, lately, so he fights the old instinct he has that tells him to run far, far away.

"Yeah, well…" he starts, unsure of where he's going. Finally, he settles on, "I'm good with my hands."

It's supposed to be a joke, supposed to fall in with her teasing tone and the pleased look on her pretty face, but he can tell he's missed the mark by the way her eyebrows jump into her hairline and her mouth drops open slightly. 

Then she laughs, a lilting, happy giggle, and he decides it might not have been all that bad.

"That so, Dixon?" she says, her eyes bright.

"Did I stutter?"

She gestures to her neck. "All right. Show me how good those hands are, then."

He swallows hard, and there it is, that fight-or-flight instinct just begging him to take off. Dropping the crossbow instead, he realizes his hands are sweating, and he tries to casually rub them against the fabric of his pants.

"All right," he shrugs, trying for nonchalance. "C'mere."

Daryl reaches for her shoulders and spins her around quickly, making her gasp and giggle in surprise. His thumbs start to rub small circles through the fabric of her shirt, lightly at first and then harder, until her head drops forward. 

He moves his hands up toward her neck, and he continues his massage. He moves her neck gently from side to side, mimicking her earlier actions. Moving down again, he finds that her shirt is loose-fitting and easily moved out of the way, and when he starts kneading into the bare skin under the nape of her neck, she groans.

"Ah. See?" he says to the back of her head.

"Mmm," she hums. "That's it?"

He snorts, and moves his hands outward from her neck, rubbing gently along her shoulders, kneading the muscles in her upper back and arms. He pushes against the slump in her back, making her stand tell in front of him, satisfied by the slight popping noise he hears.

"There it is. How's that feel now?" he asks, stilling his hands on her shoulder blades.

"I don't know…" Andrea says, her tone of voice still teasing. She sighs dramatically and wiggles her shoulders as if testing her muscles. "You may have oversold yourself."

Something flares up in him, and his voice is low and gruff when he says, "I ain't done yet."

His hands slide down her arms, the backs of his hands brushing slowly, deliberately against her breasts – just enough that she can pull away and maybe slap him, if she wants to. Instead, she hums happily and arches her back, pushing against his hands and encouraging his exploration. 

The itchy feeling surfaces again, and he lets his hands settle on her hips for a moment, rubbing at the skin revealed by her low-slung pants, before tamping the feeling down and finally slipping those hands underneath her t-shirt.

Her breath hitches when his palms smooth over her flat stomach and on upward, cupping her breasts through her bra. His fingers tease along the edge of her bra before he pushes the fabric of the cups down to let her spill out of them, and she moans when he finally gets his hands on her. 

Rough hands work at her soft skin, and he runs his fingers over her nipples before pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers.

"Fuck, Daryl," she groans.

"Good?" he mumbles.

She breathes out a laugh. "Oh, come on. That all you've got?"

He hesitates, still rubbing her with his thumbs, and finally says, "No."

Pulling her back against him, he resists the urge to grind himself against her and instead snakes one hand down her front and into her pants. His fingers ghost over the front of her underwear and trace the edge of it – down, down, until he feels her wiggle against him, trying to get him where she wants him.

Biting the back of her neck, he presses the pad of his index finger to her sex, rubbing her gently back and forth through the fabric of her panties. She gasps and presses herself closer to him, grabbing at his arms and opening her legs a bit wider.

He moves his hand again, slipping it underneath her underwear to cup her gently. Groaning at the wetness he finds, he kisses her neck and slides a finger slowly inside of her. She gasps again and mumbles something unintelligible when his thumb finds her clit, rubbing a pattern against her. 

The hand still on her chest squeezes at her, kneading her breast in his palm. He adds a second finger to his ministrations and she moans, her hips moving against him as he works his fingers inside and against her. 

Daryl walks her forward a bit until they're leaning against the railing, her hands darting out to wrap around the cool metal. Unable to stop himself, he ruts up against her, licking and sucking along the side of her neck while his fingers speed up in time with her hips.

He bites at her pulse point and thumbs at her nipple, and Andrea muffles a cry against her arm, coming hard around his fingers. He holds onto her as she rides it out, groaning at the feeling of her pressed so tightly against him.

When her breathing slows, he pulls his hands away and moves them to grip her hips, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Well?"

"A-plus," she breathes. "I'll never doubt you again. I'd recommend you to all my friends, but I'd rather keep your talents a secret for my own purposes."

Daryl presses a sloppy kiss to the back of her neck. "Go ahead and use me any time," he says.

He's hard and pressed against the back of her, still, and she twists herself around in his arms. Without a word, she pops the button on his pants and pulls the zipper down quickly.

"You know…" she says, reaching into his boxers. He curses when she wraps her hand around his shaft, and she grins. "I'm pretty good with my hands, too."

"That so?" he breathes, his eyes squeezed shut.

She laughs. "I'll prove it."


End file.
